


Just The Three Of Us

by Fatebegins



Series: Edited To Add [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, Jealousy, Kid Fic, M/M, Mpreg, Schmoop, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-20
Updated: 2012-11-20
Packaged: 2017-11-19 03:55:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/568807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fatebegins/pseuds/Fatebegins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Derek discovers a picture of Stiles' ex-boyfriend, he starts having doubts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just The Three Of Us

By nature, Derek’s an early riser, it used to drive his parent‘s insane. Sleeping in has never held any appeal and as he grew older and got into his uncle’s lifestyle, he realized being essentially unconscious is a liability when he has a bunch of people who would love to make sure he stays that way.    
  
All this to say: Derek’s not a slave to sleep, he’s not one of those guys--aka Stiles-- who sleep till noon on their days off just because they can.  Derek’s always awake by seven thirty, a good five hours and he’s done.  
  
But Dylan?  
  
Dylan could give his uncle a run for his money in torture. The kid stays awake well past midnight and then is sneaking into their room before the sun even comes up, little fingers jabbing into his eyes insistently; stupid, giant dog behind him.  
  
Like clockwork, there’s movement across the hall.  
  
As soon as the door creaks, Derek groans.  
  
There’s a muffled giggle and then the tell tale thump of Robin’s gigantic tail.  
  
No, no, no.  
  
They’ve had this conversation with Dylan, repeatedly, Stiles mostly. They told him he has to stay in his bed, unless there’s an emergency, until Mr. Sun comes up.  Dylan clearly has not been listening.  
  
Third day in a row and here he is.  
  
“Daddy?”  
  
The whisper is unexpected, the kid usually yells, guess this is his definition of considerate.  
  
“Daddy? Wake up.”  
  
Derek crack open one eye and sure enough, the clock reads 5:48.  
  
“Dylan.” There’s only so much he can take, and it helps that it’s too dark for Dylan to use his puppy eyes on him. “I told you that you have to stay in bed until Mr. Sun wakes up.” It’s a stupid story but at this point Derek will say anything. “Mr. Sun is not awake.”  
  
“But… I’m _scared_.”  
  
That’s a new one.  
  
Instantly worried, Derek sits up and flips on the  bedside lamp. “What happened?” Dylan raises his hands and Derek lifts him up onto his lap.  
  
Stiles, the rock that he is, remains fast asleep, sprawled on his stomach as he snores softly.  It’s not endearing.  
  
“I was scared.” Dylan‘s voice quivers and he snuggles against Derek’s chest. “Cause Mr. Sun was takin’ a long time.”  
  
Little faker.  
  
“So you broke the rules and came in here?”  
  
“Yeah!” He sounds very pleased with himself and Derek thinks maybe he should start disciplining the kid instead of giving in all the time. “Hungry, can I have cereal?”  
  
“You know, little man.” Derek sighs, getting out of bed. “We’re going to have to talk about boundaries.”  
  
***Derek***  
  
Derek doesn’t really know much about Stiles’ family. His mother is dead and his father is far away in some bumblefuck town and they don’t really talk much.  Another thing Rafael had fucked up before he skipped out on them. Stiles doesn’t talk about his father but Derek’s overheard a few short conversations, most of them tense. The guy doesn’t even speak to Dylan.  
  
“Socks!” Dylan interrupts Derek‘s thoughts, shoving his foot in his face. It’s clearly one of Stiles’ and it reaches his knee. “Mine.” He’s discarded his cereal bowl on the coffee table in favor of rummaging through with him.  
  
Derek grins at Dylan, at least he has company, this makes waking up early to clear out Stiles’ storage boxes bearable.  His pain in the ass fiancé is currently still asleep because it's his day off and he won’t be making an appearance until at least noon.  
  
Only Stiles would save such useless things.  
  
The first box is filled with more socks, loose leaf, books, packets of seed, old jerseys,  and other various items that seem more suited to the trash. Derek blitzes through in record time, organizing everything because Stiles’ crap cluttering up the house is a recipe for disaster.  
  
The second box proves far more entertaining. Baby clothes are folded neatly on top and Dylan squeals when he sees them, tries to get a onesie over his head and gets trapped for his trouble. Derek helps him out of it when he starts to get tearful. Dylan is much more subdued after that, cheeks damp and eyes solemn. Derek hates when Dylan is anything less than happy, and two popsicles later his kid is back to smiling and making nonsensical jokes.  
  
“Pictures.” Dylan drops his popsicle on the floor and Derek rushes to clean up the mess, fucking cherry stains on his white rug. When Derek finishes cleaning up the mess, Dylan stands over him, book in hand, “Daddy, look at the pictures.”  
  
“Whoa.” Derek settles Dylan on his lap and opens the first page. He’s never seen baby pictures of Dylan, and suddenly there are a shitload.  From wrinkled, red newborn to two years old. Dylan was a fat baby and from the looks of it, constantly drooling and chewing on things.  
  
“Who’s that?” Dylan point to a picture of himself asleep inside a swing.  
  
“That’s you, little man.”  
  
“No, it's not!” He points to another picture. “Who’s that?”  
  
“You, again.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“As a baby.” Derek points to Stiles in a picture with him. “There’s Poppy, and that’s you.”  Underneath the picture, in Stiles’ deranged, cramped scrawl is ‘Dylan, seven months.’  
  
“Oh,” Bored already, Dylan flips the page skipping several in the process. He pauses, “Who’s that?”  
  
Derek’s stomach clenches when he looks at the next photo. He’s never seen Rafael before and it‘s a shock. The guy has Dylan’s eyes and dimples, the same nose.  It makes him sick.  
  
“I don’t know.” Swallowing hard, Derek gets to his feet ignoring Dylan’s protest.  “How about we go out for pancakes?” Dylan’s eyes light up and the album drops to the floor forgotten. “Just the two of us?”  
  
***DEREK***  
  
When they get back from the diner, the boxes have been cleared away and Stiles is laying on the couch television turned to cartoons. He’s  wearing Derek’s discarded black pajama pants and a sweatshirt.  On the floor is an empty cereal bowl; typical Sunday slob.  
  
“Hey,” Stiles sits up with a smile, “I was wondering where you guys went off to.”  
  
“We went to the store.” Dylan replies. “I got a toy.”  
  
“We went to get breakfast.” Derek corrects. “You finish off with the boxes?”  
  
“Yup,” Stiles walks over, leans up to kiss him. “I didn’t know they were coming today otherwise I would’ve woke up and did it myself. Thanks for starting on it though.”  
  
“No problem.” Rafael’s picture keeps flashing in his mind. “You kept everything?”  
  
“Don’t worry.” Smiling, Stiles wraps his arms around Derek’s waist. “It’s all neat and tidy, your order has been restored.”  
  
There are about a million questions going through Derek’s mind, but he doesn’t ask them. He’s only insecure when it comes to Stiles.  
  
***    
  
Derek gets his answer a couple of days later. Dylan scrapes his knee chasing Robin in the hall and Stiles sends him to retrieve Band-Aids in the nightstand.  The photo album is there, and  after they get Dylan cleaned up, Derek waits until they’re occupied to go back. This time he goes through the whole thing. There are a handful more photographs of Rafael, Stiles’ confirming his identity  by writing his name under the photos. There are a couple of them when they were obviously together, Rafael’s arm around Stiles’ waist, his lips on his neck-- fuck.  
  
They look happy in the photos; they look in love.  
  
***STILES***  
  
It’s the third night Derek’s been this late, and Stiles is starting to worry. As much as he tries to let it not matter, it does. Peter freaks him out, his life, every thing he represents threatens his happiness. No matter how many times Derek tell him not to worry, he does.  
  
Stiles knew his life wouldn’t be a bag of rainbows, but it still sucks to lay awake and wonder.  
  
Around midnight he hears the front door open and finally breathes easy. He listens to Derek check in on Dylan and then their bedroom door pushes open.  
  
“So?”  
  
“You told me you wouldn’t wait up.”  
  
“And I’m a notorious liar.” Stiles watches him.  “What’d he want.”  
  
“Peter just wanted to talk logistics.”  
  
“Are you…” Stiles swallows the question he promised himself he wouldn’t ask.  
  
“I’m not going to run shit for him.” Derek strips off his jacket and shoes and then climbs into bed. Stiles resists being clingy for about half a second, all but jumping into Derek’s law. Derek‘s hand slides through his hair, holds him close. “Don’t worry about me going back.”  
  
“It’s hard not to.” Stiles has seen the restlessness in Derek some days. “I know you miss it.”  
  
“When the alternative is not having you or Dylan? I don’t miss it at all.”  
  
  
***DEREK***  
  
  
“ I don’t know why you always let him pick,”  Stiles whispers, teeth nipping his ear as he snuggles closer. “He chooses the _same_ movie, _every_ time, without fail.”  
  
“I like the Lion King.” It’s been a week since Derek saw the pictures and every day, without fail, he checks to see if they’re still there, and every day they are  and he gets a little more pissed off.  
  
It’s irrational, he knows it is, but just the thought of that bastard still holding even one corner of Stiles heart drives him crazy. Rafael is one lucky bastard, if Derek knew where he was, he would deal with him the way he did with every other threat, elimination.  
  
“Scary!” Dylan squeals delightedly when Scar comes on the screen for his deranged ‘Be Prepared’ solo. “He’s funny!”  
  
Derek grins because as tough as he is now, when he saw that same scene as a child, it brought him to tears. Dylan’s much braver.  
  
“Daddy, look at Scar.” He giggles, feet kicking in delight. His heel catches Robin side and the big dog doesn’t even react, she’s used to it. “Scary.”  
  
“Real scary.” Derek agrees, shifting back. He’s aware of Stiles’ hand on the inside of his knee, feels when it inches higher subtly.  It’s his M.O. to fool around when Dylan’s occupied but he’s not really feeling it.  
  
However, Stiles is very much feeling it, wrapping around him like a vine, mouthing along his neck.  There’s never a time when Derek doesn’t  go from zero to diamond hard when Stiles is frisky. So as much as he has this issue, he still turns his head, raises Stiles chin to kiss him. They go on like that for several minutes, kissing right through Moufasa dying and Simba running away.  
  
“Nearly asleep,” Stiles whispers against his mouth, lips already pink and swollen and Derek really wants to see them wrapped around his dick very soon. “Think I’ll combust if I don’t get you inside me in the next five minutes. Miss you so much.”  
  
Derek casts a glance towards the rug where Dylan’s eyes are hanging half mast, he nods off periodically only to snap awake and then repeat the process all over again.  
  
“He might--”  
  
Stiles cuts him off with another kiss, this one hard and demanding. His lips are slick and wet, tongue probing and insistent as he climbs up onto Derek’s lap. “Eight days.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Eight days,” Stiles repeats, this time grinding forward. “You haven’t fucked me for eight days.”  
  
“Who’s counting?”  
  
Stiles nips his bottom lip, “I am.”  
  
“I’ve been busy, Peter stuff.”  
  
“I know and I  don’t wanna know.” Stiles slides a hand down his chest, cups him through his jeans. “But we’re about to _get busy,_ together.”  
  
Derek snorts, “Nice one.”  
  
“I felt good about it.” His fingers start working Derek’s half hard cock, squeezing the thick shaft as he presses the rough denim down against it.  When he‘s unable to stifle a groan, Stiles grins victoriously. “That feel good?”  
  
“Dylan--”  
  
“Is asleep.”  
  
Which is true, they look over and Dylan’s out cold on his little pile of blankets Robin curled around him like he’s one of her puppies.    
  
“C’mon,” Stiles pulls him to his feet all but dragging him through the condo to the bedroom. “We can get him later.”  
  
***  
  
Derek lays awake long after Stiles falls asleep, staring at the ceiling and thinking about the picture laying in the nightstand two feet away.  
  
  
***  
  
“I’m having a baby!”  
  
Leave it to Scott to just burst into his apartment without warning. The brat knows he could have been shot full of holes just by surprising him.  
  
“You can’t just come in here whenever you feel like it.”  
  
Scott rolls his eyes, barreling forward. “I know you’re not going to shoot me.”  
  
Derek scowls. “I could have.”  
  
“You moved all your guns to the safe so Dylan wouldn’t get into them.” Scott gloats. “I know you’re all talk, softie.”  
  
“Scottie, so help me God--”  
  
“Back to me!” Scott spins around slowly, hand going to his flat abs. “Do I look pregnant or what, cause I am. You’re going to have a cousin.”  
  
Derek’s mouth twists ruefully.   “I already have a cousin, Liam’s doing five years upstate.”  
  
“Well, another cousin.”  
  
“I’m happy for you.” Although Derek is happy, kind of, he’s more shell shocked. He can’t believe it actually. The idea of his best friend and his uncle has always weirded him out just a little, Peter is nearly sixteen years older than Scott.  
  
“Hurry up and get that guy of yours knocked up so my kid can have a best friend. “  
  
“We’re not doing that before we get married.’  
  
“Never pinned you for a traditionalists.”  
  
“I’m a lot of things.”  
  
“Okay…” Scott stops, looks at the radio. “Is that Taylor Swift playing?”  
  
“No!” Too late Derek slams the damn thing off.  
  
“And you  ordered Chinese food?” Scott opens a container. “Your body is a temple, remember?”  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
“Taylor Swift, junk food, no aviators and you’re wearing sweat pants--dude, you’re depressed.”  
  
“I’m not.” Derek growls. “And you’re not too knocked up to get thrown out on your ass.”  
  
“Tell me what’s eating you.”  
  
“Nothing.” Derek rips open a container of orange chicken. “I’m fine, worked out for two hours and  met with the Bernards before you even brushed your teeth.”  
  
Scott just stares at him.  
  
“Fine, he’s keeping pictures of his ex, all fucking memorialized within arms reach.”  
  
“And?”  
  
“And it pisses me off.”  
  
“Well then what’d he say when you asked him about it.”  
  
Derek remains stubbornly silent.  
  
“You didn’t ask him about it? Derek, you wimp, what the hell are you waiting for?”  
  
“Keep your voice down, the kid’s sleeping.”  
  
“Fine, I’ll go.” Scott fixes him with a look, “Talk to him, he’s not going to be able to read your mind.”  
  
***STILES***  
  
Completely lost to all else, Stiles moans as Derek moves over him, dick driving deep and hitting his prostrate on every stroke. Every inch of him feels alive and on fire, nerves tingling. Stiles clenches his muscles, squeezes Derek tight as his orgasm rushes through him.  
  
“Fuck,” Derek’s back is damp with sweat, his teeth sharp against Stiles collarbone. “Not done with you.”  
  
At the low words, Stiles shivers. He’s already come twice in the past hour, once with Derek’s lips tight around his cock. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this horny.”  
  
“Just want you,” Derek’s mouth settles over his, tongue sliding in deep as he begins to move in and out of Stiles’ already well used hole. “So fucking much, always, want you.”  
  
Stiles squeaks when  Derek shifts onto his knees, pulls Stiles up roughly by his hips and slams in deep. All words escape him and Stiles is reduced to chanting his name. This time Derek comes with him, he can feel the heat filling the condom.  
  
Derek collapses on top of him, panting against his neck for a short moment before he begins kissing Stiles again. He’s still half hard and Stiles feels too worn out to do anything about it.  
  
“Viagra.” Stiles groans, body still thrumming with pleasure even as Derek pulls out. He’s definitely going to be sore in the morning.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Are you on Viagra?”  
  
Derek begins to laugh, “I think I should be insulted.”  
  
“I don’t think you’ve ever...”  
  
“Ever what? Fucked you so long and hard?” Derek mocks, and Stiles blushes dark red. “And you liked it,” He trails a finger through the cooling come on Stiles’ abdomen. “I can tell.”  
  
“Won’t be able to sit for a week.”  
  
Derek licks his lips and Stiles can’t believe it’s possible get hard again but he does. “Any complaints?”  
  
“None.”  
  
  
***DEREK***  
  
Dylan is tearing up and down the aisles of the supermarket, touching everything as he goes. No one stops them although Derek can sense the other parent’s disapproving looks.  The manager however, remains in his upstairs office, head peeking out periodically and then ducking back inside when Derek looks his way. The guy is in about twenty deep with Peter; a damn shame.  
  
“Daddy! I got it.” Dylan points at the freezer. “Let’s get this one.”  
  
Predictably, it’s not the turkey they came in for but Egos waffles. Derek adds it to their cart anyway before picking Dylan up and walking to the frozen meat section..  
  
There’s a crowd around the bin, apparently twenty five dollars for a fourteen pound turkey is a huge deal. Derek doesn’t even have to shoulder his way through, everyone just kind of scatters. Despite the deference, Derek stubbornly waits his turn. It bothers him that people still treat him like a leper, he wants Dylan to be normal and he’s been trying to straighten up and fly right for months. He wants his life to be safe for them.  
  
“Go ahead.” A teenager mumbles, “ You were here first.”  
  
Derek definitely just showed up ten seconds ago. “I can wait.”  
  
“It’s no trouble.”  
  
“I can--”  
  
“Daddy! Let’s go!” Dylan doesn’t share his generosity. “Move!” He tells the boy, but then smiles. “Please.”  
  
Holding Dylan securely on one hip, Derek grabs a turkey by the plastic handle.  
  
“Um, listen, I’m Isaac and you’re uh.” And Derek knows that look, narrows his eyes and catalogs the guys bruised eyes and blonde hair. His pupils aren’t dilated he’s not shaking like an addict out for a fix. His clothes although worn are good quality. “You’re Derek Hale.”  
  
Derek just stares at him.  
  
“I’m looking for… I’m looking for an in.”  
  
“With?”  
  
“Your…business.” Isaac looks furtive. “I’m trust worthy, willing to do anything--:  
  
“I don’t care what you are.” Derek makes sure his tone conveys just how close the guy is to getting knocked on his ass.  “Don’t come up to me when I’m with my kid, next time I‘ll skip the warning.”  
  
  
***Derek***  
  
  
“What are you thankful for?”  
  
Dylan looks back at him blankly, fork clenched in his hand like a weapon. “Huh?”  
  
“It’s Thanksgiving,” Stiles repeats slowly and Derek grins because he can tell it’s something they practiced and Dylan is fucking up. “Tell Daddy what you’re thankful for.”  
  
“I…” Bereft for a moment, Dylan’s mouth turns down. “I don’t know why I can’t eat turkey.”  
  
“You can,” Stiles soothes but remains firm. ‘Just say what we--”  
  
“I’ll go first.” Derek volunteers and then instantly regrets it.  
  
He’s never done this before, never had a real family gathering around the table. His parents died when he was young, and with peter’s first stint in jail, he’d been taken out of his custody and bounced around in the system. His foster parent’s hadn’t been very thankful to have him.  
  
This Thanksgiving feels like his first.  
  
“I, uh.” Derek can feel himself start to fidget; it’s a nervous habit. “It’s Thanksgiving and all, and I’m thankful for you guys, I guess.”  
  
“Seriously?” Stiles looks aghast, “I spend five hours slow roasting a turkey and ‘you’re thankful for us, you guess‘?”  
  
“I’m not an emotional guy.”  
  
“Just one night, come on.” Stiles busts out the puppy eyes and Derek is hooked. “Please.”  
  
“Fine.” Derek grunts and Dylan laughs at the sound, he’s already eating his cranberry sauce and it’s smeared on his cheek.  “I’m thankful to have a son like Dylan, someone who makes me want to be a good guy and all. I’m thankful that I have you, Stiles, that you agreed to marry me and take on all my shit--I mean, stuff.” His cheeks feel hot. “ I’m happy.”  
  
“Aw,” As expected, Stiles has gone misty eyed, hand clutched over his heart dramatically. His boy is a sap with a flare for drama and he never fails to make a big deal of everything. “Derek, you’re so sweet!” He jumps up out of his chair to hug him tight, press Derek’s face into his scratchy, wool, turkey emblazoned sweater.  
  
“Dude,” Derek protests half-heartedly. “Let go.”  
  
“Don’t fight it!” Stiles declares, arms tightening. “Feel the love.”  
  
“You’re such a pain in the ass.”  
  
“You love it.” Stiles smirks down at him before pressing a noisy kiss to his cheek. “You just made a speech about how much you love it.”  
  
“I hate you.” The words are meaningless when he says them through a smile and Stiles grins.  
  
“My turn!” Dylan drops his spoon with a loud clatter. “I love my daddy and poppy, for ever and ever.”  
  
The words hit Derek like a punch to the chest. Dylan’s affections are given freely, but they mean so damn much to him. Hearing him say that, with all the conviction a three year old can muster…yeah, it means a lot.  
  
And Derek is not getting teary, it’s just stupid Stiles’ sweater rubbing all over his face.  
  
  
***DEREK***  
  
“We need to talk.”  
  
“Okay.” Stiles doesn’t look up from comic book.  
  
“Stiles.”  
  
“I’m listening, you‘re the one not doing your part!”  
  
“I’m being serious.”  
  
“Okay,” Stiles drops the book, “What’s up, honeybunch?”  
  
“Don’t call me that.”  
  
“Sweet petunia,” Stiles grabs his face, squishes his cheeks together. “Tell me what’s wrong.”  
  
“I’m two seconds from taking back the engagement ring--”  
  
“Okay!” Stiles stops and pouts, sheets tangled at his waist. “Fine, no teasing.”  
  
“Why do you still have his picture?”  
  
Stiles frowns, “What picture?”  
  
“Rafael.”  
  
A couple of seconds pass in silence.  
  
“You went through my things.”  
  
“I was helping you organize your clutter.” Derek huffs, unable to stay seated he stands up, paces in front  of the bed before just blurting it out. “Are you still into him?”  
  
“Rafael?” Stiles eyes go huge. “The guy who left me with two hundred thousands dollars of debt?”  
  
Derek stares back at him stubbornly. “That’s not an answer.”  
  
“The same guy who put me and my son in danger, the one who left me the moment he found out I was pregnant?”  
  
“Stiles.”  
  
“Fuck no!” The words are full of anger, truth.  “I don’t care about Rafael, not that way.”  
  
“But you have his picture.”  
  
“So?”  
  
“Why else would you?” Derek jerks open the nightstand drawer, tosses the album down on the bed accusingly. “You’ve kept them all.”  
  
“Uh, yeah.” Stiles looks at him like he has two heads. “Don’t you think Dylan is going to a least want to know who his biological father is when he gets older? These are all I have left of Rafael; I have to keep them.”  
  
Okay.  
  
So that’s logical.  
  
All of a sudden, Derek feels really crazy and really pathetic. Judging by the way Stiles is looking at him now, he must agree. It’s the same fond look of amused pity he gives Dylan when he tries to eat the plastic, decorative fruit.  
  
“Derek--”  
  
“I get it,” Derek sits down at the edge of the bed, back to Stiles. “I’m stupid.”  
  
“You’re not.” Stiles comes up behind him, arms wrapping around his waist. “You’re jealous, when there’s no reason to be… _honeycakes_.”  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
More laughter, “But next time, just ask me, don’t angst about it.”  
  
Since he already stared, Derek may as well make a complete fool of himself. “Why haven’t you started planning the wedding?”  
  
“I’m not sure,” A hum of contemplation. “No time? Crazy active toddler who wants to ruin my life? It’s not like I don’t want to marry you or whatever.”  
  
“Then let’s do it.” Derek turns to hold Stiles’ gaze. “Right now.”  
  
“Right now?”  
  
“What’s stopping us? I have the money, you can shut down the shop for two days; let’s go to Vegas.”  
  
“You’re crazy.”  
  
“Is that a no?”  
  
“It’s a _hell_ yes.”  
  
*** STILES***  
  
“This is horrifying.”  
  
“Pretty!” Dylan exclaims, pointing at the bright lights of ‘the little white chapel.’ “I like it.”  
  
“Not bad.” Stiles chimes in because he seriously has to add something to cover up how much of a shit show he thinks this is. “It’s…better than I expected.”  
  
“There really is an Elvis, I thought that was just something people said.” Scott is ecstatic, has been thrilled since they boarded Peter’s private plane four hours ago. “This is going to be so cool.”  
  
Stiles looks at Derek who looks a little green.  
  
He squeezes his hand, “Second thoughts?”  
  
“Just didn’t picture it this way.”  
  
A drunk pair stumble past them and Stiles winces at the smell of tequila. “Me neither.”  
  
“How pissed off would you be if I said I didn’t want to marry you surrounded by sluts and drunks? That I want our wedding to be nice and respectable, something we can show Dylan when he gets older.”  
  
“Vegas is respectable.” Scott doesn’t even bother to act like he’s not eavesdropping. “And we’re here.”  
  
“I’d say I feel the same--”  
  
“Are you kidding me?” Scott interrupts, “I flew thousands of miles for a wedding! I was _airsick_ and _pregnant_ and _miserable_! There’s going to be a freakin’ wedding if I have to hold a gun to both your backs.”  
  
“Just a wedding?” Derek asks, and Scott nods. “ _Any_ wedding?”  
  
Realization dawns and Scott‘s excitement is back. “Any wedding.”  
  
Stiles stares past him , along with everyone else, at Peter who hasn’t said a single word. Peter’s hanging a few feet back, scrolling through--Stiles nearly chokes on his tongue--baby clothes on his ipad.  
  
It’s funny that Stiles used to be terrified of Peter Hale and the silent five.  
  
“Well?” Scott demands and even the silent five are waiting for their boss to get a clue.  
  
The older man’s eyebrows raise, “What?”  
  
“We’re getting married.” Scott tells him matter of factly.  “Because unlike Prince Derek over here, this is exactly what I imagined my wedding would be like.”  
  
With those last words, Scott drags Peter inside and the men hurry to follow.  
  
“Well,” Stiles leans against Derek’s side, kissing Dylan’s fingers when his son pats his cheek. “So we flaked. We‘re such fails.”  
  
“Next time,” Derek’s arm goes around his shoulder, and they stare up at the twinkling lights of the strip.  
  
As gaudy as it is, there’s something beautiful about it beneath the night sky.  
  
“Next time.” Stiles can see Peter and Scott standing in front of Elvis. “That will be us.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is ❤


End file.
